


Don't Die

by missus_e



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Inhumans - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, post mid-season finale, written for secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missus_e/pseuds/missus_e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Fitz and Simmons are Big Damn Heroes (Secret Santa Prompt: Protective FitzSimmons)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Die

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a prompt for FitzSimmons Secret Santa fic exchange. It was just supposed to be a short little story... then it became this. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

To say that Fitz is unhappy with the current situation is an understatement. Such a description would leave out the words ‘frustrated,’ ‘apprehensive,’ and, although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, ‘terrified.’

He’s frustrated with his stupid left leg, which had gotten stuck under some falling debris on their way out of the temple. The anxiety on Simmons’ face only disappeared when they were safely inside the Bus and she was able to determine it was a mere hairline fracture, aggravated by their dash from death, but nothing lasting.  

It had turned out that Skye was the source of the mysterious earthquake. How and why this was the case was still a mystery to all of them.

Which is why he’s apprehensive. They’ve decided to go on yet another Indiana Jones inspired adventure to examine one of the many landing sites of the ancient aliens known as “The Kree.” 

"Lucky for us this one is relatively easy to reach," Coulson had said two hours earlier, pointing to a large holographic map of a Chinese valley. He was debriefing a small team on board the Bus en route. "The area around us is heavily forested, but it’s far enough out that we don’t need to worry about things like civilians or government interference."

"Which isn’t to say we should get caught," Hunter said under his breath. 

"Exactly," Coulson had replied. "Unfortunately this is alien territory for us, both literally and metaphorically. But from our experience in San Juan we can make a few educated guesses." 

He’d nodded to Fitz, who pulled up a new screen on the hologram. It was a picture of a small silver disk inlaid in a series of circular patterns. “This,” Coulson announced, “is alien metal we found inside the temple. We don’t know what it is or what it does—”

 _Because we weren’t able to get a sample of it,_ Fitz thought to himself.  _We were too busy trying to destroy the place._

"—But if you see it, don’t touch it." 

Fitz had immediately looked back at Mack. The man had his arms crossed over his chest, listening but not listening to the debriefing. He’d changed since they pulled him out of that crumbled temple. He was more reserved, less willing to joke the way he used to. Fitz wished he could do something, anything really, to help his friend.

Which lead him to the final emotion he’s feeling at this moment: Terrified. 

Because he’s sitting here in this stupid garage watching both Simmons and Mack pack up their hazmat suits next to his best long range DWARVES, and instead of helping he’s going to be here, on the Bus, with three geek squad members and a bum leg to keep him company. 

He knows why they’re going. Simmons is the best field scientist on their team, besides being the one Coulson trusts implicitly. Mack is the best engineer next to himself,  _and_ he can do the heavy lifting that might be required in a situation like this. And yes, he knew they would all be connected back to him by low-emp radio and electronic readers, but all of those things could be cut off at any second, and what if something happened, what if he—

Fitz takes a deep breath in. And out. 

It’s bad enough that the people he cares about go on a daily excursions that  put their lives in danger. But  _these two_? At the  _same time_? Yes, as far as they knew the landing site was dormant, a complete dead-end in their search for answers. But there were so many things they didn’t know, and it was those things that kept him from eating anything since they’d gotten the assignment this morning. 

Simmons zips her bag shut and glances at him. Oh god, she’s going to talk to him. He tries not to freeze up when he sees her approaching. They’ve come so far, but he still has early Academy flashbacks every time she passes by him. 

"The DWARVES are all packed up," she says. "We’ll use them to scan the perimeter of the site and send you back anything we find."

Fitz nods. “Just try not to lose them,” he says. He doesn’t want to add that it’s harder for him to replace them than it used to be. 

She smiles and instinctually goes to touch his shoulder, but backs out at the last moment, awkwardly hitting his arm instead. He hates it when she does that.  “Could you—”

Her face falls. “Not touch you. I know.” It makes his gut twist. 

"No, not that. I-I don’t care about that. Just-" He swears he had a sentence in mind, a suggestion about the mission, about handling the low emp devices, about  _something—_ "Just don’t die."

It’s not what he meant to say  _at all_ , but from the way her eyes light up, he’s pretty glad he did. “I’ll do my best,” she says with a small shy smile. “And I’ll take care of Mack. I promise.”

He looks down at his white cast and smiles briefly to himself. Of course she does. “Yeah well. You’re kind of the only friends I have—” 

Simmons outright laughs at that, and suddenly she’s hugging him, quickly but still. “We’ll be fine,” she says, smiling more brightly than he’s seen in a  _long_ time. “Everything will be fine.”

Yet he can’t stop thinking about Trip, about sending Ward with Victoria Hand to arrest Garrett, about that sunny morning when Simmons first brought up  _field work_ over breakfast. Everything was supposed to be fine then too. 

—-

It all went horribly wrong. 

Things started off calmly enough: they’d reached the valley, the DWARVES showed no signs of anything unusual, the radios were working and everything  _was fine_. 

"Sir," Simmons said over the group channel. "I think we may have found something." She’d been down in the valley, near the center if Fitz read the equipment specs right (of course he did, he reads these things easier than he read  _Harry Potter_ ). 

"What is it Simmons?" Coulson had asked.

"Not sure… Mack and I are going to try and get a closer look—"

And that’s when all hell broke loose. 

He heard gunfire over the radio, hoarse yelling in a different language (Mandarin? Maybe?), Coulson screaming for everyone to  _get down!_

"What’s going on?" Fitz had yelled, snapping at the geek squad team members behind him to get  _something_ on visual, anything. “Coulson! What’s happening? Coulson!” 

"Everyone get back!"

"Mack what are you doing?!"

There’d been a shot. A distinctive cry of pain. Fitz had known exactly what happened.

"Simmons! Come in Simmons!" Coulson yelled over the radio. There’d been no answer, just more gunfire. "Mack, what the hell is going on? Mack! Respond!"

That’s when the radio went silent. 

Fitz’s heartbeat was in his ears. He had to sit down,  _lie down,_ but his crutch wouldn’t let him slump to the floor like he’d wanted. A geek squad member,  _Agent Lewis? Is that his name?_ ran to his side and helped him stand, but he’s gone, his hands shaking like the guns in the hands in the enemy.  _She’s gone—_

The door to the mission room had opened and a small group of men wearing black swarmed in, shouting in a strange language and guns pointed at the agents’ heads. They forced everyone to the ground, but Fitz had taken too long because of his  _stupid bloody leg,_ so one of the men took the butt of his gun and knocked it into his stomach. He’d dropped to the ground, and the last thing he saw before the bag went over his head was the fear in Agent Lewis’s eyes. 

—-

He doesn’t know she’s dead, not for certain. Hell, he doesn’t even know where he’s going, just that his captors keep arguing in a vaguely familiar language and that it’s really,  _really_ painful to walk on a broken leg. He keeps falling and they keep making him get back up, but finally they shove him onto a floor that smells like dust, sweat, and animals. Someone tries to speak but they’re cut off by a curt word and what sounds like a solid smack to the jaw. The engines sputter to life, and they’re off. 

The ride is silent, heavy, broken only by the sounds of sniffling and bumps in the road that send Fitz flying every time.  _She’s not dead,_ he repeats over and over in his mind.  _She’s not dead. None of them are. They’re alive, and they’ll get us out of this_. 

The sniffling breaks into a steady sobbing. The familiar sound makes Fitz’s stomach twist as tears track down his own face.  _They’re alive_ , he thinks.  _But if they don’t get us out of this I will._

The truck stops with a jerk and someone pushes him out, telling him in heavily accented English to move or die. His leg screams at him in protest against the rough treatment, but he does his best to grit through it. Thankfully they don’t have to go very far before he’s knocked to the ground again and the bag is ripped off his head. 

The place they’re in is rudimentary in its materials: old fashioned lanterns that hang on plywood walls illuminate the dirt floor and thatched roof. Despite this Fitz has no doubt they’re in a sacred building. It stretches far out ahead of them, the walls rising to cathedral-like height. At the far end of the room thousands of tiny mirrors hang from the roof, throwing shafts of light over every surface. Underneath the mirrors is a man, bald except for the high pony tail on the back of his head, sitting on an oversized throne of glass. 

_Where the hell are we?_

One of their captors comes around to stand in front of them. His gun is still in his hands, but his trigger finger is relaxed. “Which one of you is the leader?”

Fitz replies without hesitation. “I am.” He knows the others are looking at him, but it only makes sense: he is the senior agent in the group after all. It’s his job to protect them. 

He’s dragged to his feet and pushed forward towards the man on the throne. The pain is his leg makes him sick to his stomach, but he keeps moving. That’s what Coulson would do, isn’t it? Grit through the pain and keep going. 

The closer he gets the more he realizes that the man in front of him may not be a man at all. His skin is a pale pink color with red tattoos creeping onto his thin face from under his robe. He studies Fitz with unblinking black eyes and about the time the engineer realizes the pony-tail is actually  _a part of the man’s head_ , he also realizes that this is probably the first real-live alien he’s ever lain eyes on. 

"I am Ezra." the alien says. His voice makes Fitz feel like his bones are being used as drums, but the engineer does his best not to flinch. "I was once one of you, but now I consider myself an ambassador. I am the keeper of this land, and the Mists within it." The alien tilts his head to the side. "What are you and your men doing here?" 

Fitz closes his eyes tightly to collect his thoughts. Now is not the time for his brain to get ahead of his mouth. “We are here for research,” he says slowly and purposefully. 

"What research?" 

"The Kree." 

Ezra seems amused by this. “The Kree are long gone,” he says. “And all they left was us.” He gestures to himself. 

For once Fitz is thankful for his speech impediment, because a long list of sarcastic responses just popped up. “Where are our men?” he demands. 

"The ones in the valley with the silly suits?" Ezra scoffs. "Probably at your aircraft by now. But I doubt they’ll make it much farther than that."

It was like a weight had lifted from his chest. They’d escaped. They’d escaped and were probably at the Bus by now, and he doesn’t give a  _damn_ what Pinky here thinks, if they were at the Bus then they were coming to get their team. 

Ezra leans forward, his black eyes boring into Fitz’s blue ones. “Are you in pain?” he asks. 

The engineer shakes his head. 

"I can tell you’re lying," the alien replies. "I’ve always been good at that, even before I encountered the Mist. Now I  _excel_ at it.”

He needs to buy them time. Keep talking. “What is the Mist?”

"The Mist is the great diviner," the alien answers. "It determines which of us are merely human, and which one of us are Inhuman." 

"I-I take it you’re In- you’re Inhuman?"

"That I am."

"G-good for you," Fitz spits out. "Now- now let my men go." 

"Or what?"

"You’ll pay."

Ezra throws his head back and laughs, sharp white teeth reflecting in the light. “You see these mirrors?” He gestures to the kaleidoscope of colors above his head. “You may look in one and only see your appearance. I see  _you_  Leopold Fitz. And I can see when you are hopeful, when you are stalling, and most importantly  _when you are lying._ ”

The engineer can feel the pain throbbing in his leg, but he refuses to break eye-contact with this psycho. “Then you know I’m not lying.” 

The alien smiles at him. He seems almost benevolant. “No one leaves these lands unchanged Mr. Fitz. I’ll be interested to see what the Mists make of you.” He lifts a tattooed hand and the men standing behind Fitz roughly turn him around and march him towards the exit. 

They emerge into darkness, Fitz in front of the geek squad and soldiers prodding them forward. The throbbing in his leg is overwhelming, but just as he thinks he’s about to pass out Agent Lewis appears at his side, throwing his arm around his shoulder. “Let me help you sir,” he says with quiet gravity. 

The engineer looks at this agent, sees his red eyes and tear stained face, and wonders just where the hell he came from. He’d never bothered to get to know anyone back at the Playground. It’d seemed pointless really: he’d seen the pity in their eyes at first, and later when the pity turned to wariness. But there’s no pity in his eyes now: just fear and grim determination. 

"We’re going to get out of this," he says under his breath. "The others are coming."

"I hope so sir. I still haven’t finished coding my new video game." 

He smiles briefly. “Hoping to make millions as an indie game designer?”

"Well it’s not like SHIELD’s paying me much anymore." 

Fitz chuckles under his breath. “I can test it,” he says. “Video games are good for my therapy.” 

"Sounds good sir."

The trees drop away suddenly, revealing a canopy of bright stars that illuminate the area in front of them like a spotlight.  _The valley_ , Fitz thinks.  _This is what we were trying to get to._  

The soldiers push them forward, but even they seem a little anxious. Fitz gets the feeling they don’t come here very often. He looks up into the night sky, and despite the gun at his back he still takes a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of him. He spots Gemini instantly: it’s Jemma’s constellation after all. 

 _She’s alive. That’s enough_. 

_But is it?_

The thought blindsides him. Was it enough that  _just_ Jemma lived? What about him? He needed to play Lewis’s game, he needed to show Mack his new ideas for Lola, and besides, he and Jemma never had a chance to pull that excellent prank on Skye after the whole Hydra thing happened— 

Shite. What is he doing?

"Sir," Lewis says quietly. "Do you notice something weird about the stars?" 

Fitz looks up again,  _really looks_  when he sees it. Irregularities. A shimmer where there should be blackness. Gemini suddenly has a twin in the sky. 

_Cloaking._

Suddenly there’s a commotion from the soldiers, but they’re not looking up. Instead they’re looking down into the valley, pointing at a small empty hole in the ground and yelling at each other angrily. One of them rounds on the SHIELD agents. “It’s gone!” he yells. “What did you do?”

Fitz doesn’t think: he throws his entire body weight into the soldier and knocks him to the ground. He yanks the gun from the man’s hands and fires off into the sky, the sound of bullets echoing into the forest. “Cover!” he yells, and the geek squad scatters as the bullets come back down on the group of angry soldiers. A few of them are hit, and Fitz tries to take advantage of the confusion to climb to his feet, but his  _stupid bloody leg—_

There’s a clicking sound next to his head and he turns around just in time to see the barrel of a gun fly out of his eye-line with a bang. He looks to the side: the soldier was going to kill him, but he’s been shot in the head. 

From the side.

_Wha-_

A black humvee roars into the valley like a bottle rocket, Coulson in the driver’s seat while Hunter picks off enemies with his rifle through the sun-roof. “Everyone, get in!” 

Fitz feels someone grab him by the shoulder and for the first time today he doesn’t mind being dragged along. “Where’s Jemma?” he asks the moment he’s inside.

"On the Bus," Coulson answers. "Everybody here?"

"All four here sir!"

"Great. Seatbelts." The director slams his foot on the gas as Hunter drops back inside.

"Good to see you mate," Hunter says as they speed off into the forest, away from the angry soldiers with guns. 

"Is Simmons okay?"  

"She’s a little banged up," Coulson says. "Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t take care of."

Fitz sinks back into his seat and closes his eyes. The van is cramped, his leg is  _throbbing_ , but everyone is safe, and it is 100% not his responsibility anymore. 

—-

"There he is," a voice announces as Fitz slowly maneuvers his way out of the van. "Turbo, back from the front lines."

The engineer nods happily at Mack who pushes forward a black standard wheel-chair. He’s not sure what he’s happier about: his friend being alive or the fact that he doesn’t have to stand anymore. “Where’s Simmons?” 

"Right here." She’s standing behind the big man, waiting patiently with a small med kit and a shy smile. Fitz knows he must look like the dopiest moron on earth, but she’s standing there, she’s  _whole_ , and she’s—

Wait. “What is that?” He points to her side. There’s blood on her shirt. 

"That would be my fault," Mack says. Fitz has never seen him look so guilty. "I uh, did something kind of stupid. But Simmons saved me. Took a bullet for me actually." 

"It was just a scratch," she corrects him, hastily glancing at Fitz’s horrified face. "I’m fine." 

"Well you could not be fine," Mack says. "And I’m thankful for what you did."

"Mack!" Coulson yells from the hanger entrance. "You wanna fly us out of here anytime soon?" 

The big man nods at the director. “Right on it sir.” He gives Fitz’s shoulder a squeeze before taking off for the cockpit. 

Fitz glares up at Simmons in disbelief. “You were  _shot_?” 

The bio-chemists glares right back. “You were kidnapped.” 

"You could- you could have-"

"So could you," she says. The two stare at each other for a moment longer before Jemma sighs and rolls her eyes. "Come on Fitz." She starts to wheel him back into the infirmary while he sits in his chair, half fuming and half in awe of her. 

—-

"It happened very suddenly," she explains while she examines him. He’s lying back on the infirmary bed, even though he’d insisted he was fine, she needed to rest just as much as he did dammit. "Mack and I had just spotted the alien discus when they appeared. We were right at the bottom of the valley, there was very little cover. But Mack just went for it. Not that I blame him. It’s our  _only_ clue to what happened at the temple. I don’t think he could let it go. Not when so much is on the line.” 

She looks away when she says that, back to her instruments. He knows she’s thinking of Skye back at the base, afraid of everything around her. Of Trip, the man who gave his life so that his friends could live. “That’s when they got me. Really though, it only grazed me. I was more shocked than I was injured.” 

She’s using that optimistic voice again. The one she uses when she’s trying to minimize the damage. He hates it when she does that. 

"We left so quickly that we had to abandon everything: hazmat suits, protective suitcases for alien objects. Coulson had to wrap the disc in his suit jacket and hope for the best.

"We realized you were gone when we got back to the Bus. I don’t think—" She pauses, brushes back her hair and laughs. "Do you realize how hard it is to keep you alive? Honestly." 

He snorts half-heartedly. “Pretty sure I was the one that told you not to die.” 

"I’m not dead."

"You were shot."

He hadn’t meant it to sound harsh, but Jemma doesn’t say anything for a while after that. “Well,” she says with a sniff. “The solution is simple really. We need new jobs.”

Fitz laughs out loud. It really isn’t that funny, but he can’t help it, and Simmons just looks so pleased with herself. 

"I see you brought everyone back in one piece." 

He shrugs. “Agent Lewis helped a lot. It was really him.”

"Lewis? The one that codes the video games?" 

"How did you-"

"He has a crush on Skye," Simmons replies with a small smile. "Now hold very, very still." 

She cuts his cast off quickly and professionally. He tries not to look. “Oh my god,” she hisses. “Oh this is a disaster.”

"I really don’t want to-"

"I can’t believe they didn’t give you a crutch, you’re  _clearly_ injured.”

"I don’t think they were too worried about my well-being." He glances down and immediately looks away. So gross.

Simmons shakes her head. “We’ll need to x-ray this again, but I don’t think it needs to be re-set. The cast did that much for you. In the meantime you need to rest. No complaining-” she says before he even opens his mouth. “We all need you alive and well.” 

"I need you alive too." He’s said it without thinking, and now that she’s looking at him with _that look_ , the kind that says she wants to  _talk,_ he wishes to god he’d kept his mouth shut. “W-we all do. You saved Mack. You’re the uh- the doc- the, uh, guardian-“

 ”Guardian angel?” she finishes softly. 

He wants to roll over and die. Things had been going so damn  _well_ too. He doesn’t want to look at her, so it takes him by surprise when she gently takes his hand. “Alright Fitz,” she says quietly. “How about this? I will try not to actively throw myself into dangerous scenarios if you promise to rest until your leg is better.”

The engineer looks down at her hand. He’s held it before, but it’s been so long. He’d forgotten how warm it was. “I-uh. I have a different idea.” Fitz looks away, trying to recall the clarity he’d had underneath the stars. “We could work on that disc. To-together.”

The silence is thick, but when he finally looks at her Jemma’s face is lighting up like the sun. “You’re not going to the garage?” 

He’s staring instead of answering, because she’s  _just so beautiful_. So he looks away again, and tries to ignore the feeling of her thumbs on the back of his hand. “If- if that’s okay.”

"Of course it’s okay," she says quickly. 

Fitz gulps. “Even with the-” It’s no good. No left over courage from death-inspired stargazing is going to help him finish that sentence. 

Jemma squeezes his hand again. “We’ll figure that out.” 

His eyes snap towards hers, and for the first time he really looks at her. Her face definitely some fear in it, but also a warmth that makes his cheeks burn. “We will?” 

Simmons gives him a shy smile. “We’ll have to. I’m not ready to lose you Fitz. Death or otherwise.” 

Fitz isn’t sure what’s happening. He forces himself to look down, like if he shows too much happiness it’d scare her away. “So,” he says. “We work on the disc.” 

"Yes," Simmons answers. "Together." 

"Good. Because I think the guys we were with were going to use that disc to turn us into—"

Simmons’ eyes grow wide. “Aliens?”

"They called them Inhumans."

"Do you think that’s what happened to Skye?"

"Maybe. That’s what King Pinky said."

"King  _what?”_

It was like a switch had been flipped. Fifteen minutes later when the pain meds kick in they’re  _still talking,_ speculating, planning, doing all the things Fitz was sure they would never do again. He fights the medication, because he’s afraid if he falls asleep he’ll wake up and everything will be back to the way it was. 

But instead she kisses him on the forehead and lowers the lights, and when he wakes up she’s there again, with a real smile and a stern admonition to eat his breakfast. And that’s fine with him. 


End file.
